Skinny Love
by camaieu de kiss
Summary: AU- Lavi is an anorexic teenager. Through endless struggles of self-hate, starving himself, and repeatedly purging, he is slowly falling apart. Why couldn't he be like Kanda, who is seemingly perfect in every way? But when they're placed in the same class, same room, with neighboring desks and lockers, something changes. And maybe it changes for the better.


A/N: Okay, this is my first d. gray man fanfic. So please read?

Also, I apologize for any inaccuracies of the fanfiction and anorexia nervosa and bulimia. My only knowledge of it is based off a book and personal experiences (not mine), and some research I did off of it, so it probably contains a lot of errors. And I am sincerely sorry if I offended anyone with this story.

Warnings: anorexia, self-harm, swearing, yaoi...and that's about it.

Disclaimer: I do not own d. gray man because it belongs to Katsura Hoshino. Poo.

Just in case you didn't know,

Anorexia nervosa- an eating disorder characterized by immoderate food restriction, inappropriate eating habits or rituals, obsession with having a thin figure, and an irrational fear of weight gain, as well as a distorted body self-perception.

Bulimia nervosa- an eating disorder. People with bulimia may secretly binge — eating large amounts of food — and then purge, trying to get rid of the extra calories in an unhealthy way

* * *

**Chapter 1: Anorexic Much?**

_Beep. Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep_—

A thin, pale arm shot out from beneath the layers of covers and slumped over the tiny alarm clock. It was a deafeningly bright Monday morning, while sunlight seeped into the room in slivers through the white wooden blinds. How can the sun be _deafeningly bright_? It was the kind of bright that was way too eccentric and dazzling for a wasted, weary teenager.

It was Monday morning again.

And like on all Monday mornings, getting up was mandatory.

He hated getting up. And he hated Monday mornings. Lots of hate here, huh?

The stupid alarm clock continued buzzing and buzzing with its monotonous, rhythmic pulse. Why couldn't it just _shut up_? Why did it have to be so _goddamn fucking loud_? Whoever programmed alarm clocks was a total douche bag. His hand roamed over the buttons of the alarm clock, pressing random buttons as it ran along to stop the incessant beeping.

_Good morning, it's the 7:00 news—_ugh, he didn't want to hear that. He pressed again.

'_Cause I'm happy, clap along—_he huffed in annoyance. Why did this always play on the radio? Change. Definitely change.

_Geico, 15 minutes can save_—__Everyone knew this already! Another click.

_Look better, feel better! Lose weight within fifteen days—_His hand froze.

Stop. Listen to the rest of the commercial, he told himself as upbeat music played in the background of the ad. _Look better. Feel better. Lose weight in fifteen days._ His heartbeat raced in his chest, as he could feel blood pounding in his ears. The ad's promises played through his mind over and over.

No. Unwillingly, he forced his finger to press another button, bringing his mind away from the advertisement.

Silence. Finally.

He dropped his hand from the clock and rolled over. Digging the bottom of his palm into his eye, he pushed his scarlet red hair out of his sight and sat up tiredly, accidentally knocking over some of the many medicine bottles placed on the dresser in the untidy room. Just normal medicines from a normal store. Pills for insomnia, tiredness, stress relief, head aches, migraines, muscle pain, stomach pain, laxatives, diuretics, all sorts of things.

That seemed an awful lot, didn't it?

Kicking his covers to the side, goosebumps rose on his skin as he got up to pick up the bottles from the ground. The boy winced as his head pounded from the sudden motion. Another migraine. He glanced at the bottles in his hand. Advil and Tylenol. Shrugging nonchalantly, he poured a few from both into his hand and dumped them in his mouth.

Disgusting. Eating four pills at a time without any water was _horrid. _It left a nasty aftertaste in the back of his tongue, bitter and putrid with the remaining traces of powder. Stumbling around his messy room, he dizzily shuffled his feet into the bathroom, waiting to get rid of the taste in his mouth.

But first things first.

Stripping off all of his pajamas until he was only in his boxers, he used the toilet and took a deep breath. Then, the teenager stepped tentatively onto the cool glass surface of the electronic weight in the corner of the spacious bathroom. The screen turned blank for a second. Then the result was displayed.

132.4 Lb.

He had gained 0.5 pounds. _How?_ He hadn't been eating for the past few days, was it just water weight? Burying his head in his arms, he stepped off the weight rather shakily and sat down on the cold, tiled floor. The idea of gaining weight simply nauseated him. He wanted to _throw up_. But there was nothing in his stomach, and there hadn't been anything since two days ago. So that simply meant no breakfast. He could do that. He always could.

He turned and met face to face with the mirror. Mirrors had always been a sense of self-loathing and denial, showing him all those lingering imperfections that he didn't want to see. Fingering the edges of the fancy metal rim surrounding the mirror, he stared cynically at his face.

Lavi Bookman.

How ugly he was. His bright red hair clashed terribly with his one dull green eye, while the other remained hidden under an eye patch. Dark eye circles colored under the single visible eye, giving off a tired, dilapidated look. Like he had some chronic disease or something. Even his pale skin wasn't attractive. It wasn't tanned or snowy white, just somewhere along the middle of nothingness. Not much muscle either to make up for all the nothings. It was just _fat. _No striking features at all. How imperfect.

And it made him feel awful and repulsive.

Fatness and ugliness was all he saw in the reflective surface.

He couldn't remember when it had started. Perhaps it was from his mother calling him ugly repeatedly for his similar features to his no-good father. Perhaps it was when the car accident that left him with a single eye occurred, leaving him without any guardian but with a scar and a characterizing ugly black patch over it. Perhaps it was the people at school who had started it, calling him names for his unruly appearance and ostracizing him from the rest of the class. And then suddenly, it had just clicked to him: he was ugly, he hated himself, and he hated the people around him. But wouldn't he do anything he could to just simply _fit in _to this warped society?

That was when the dark thoughts settled in.

Whenever he felt disgusted by his appearance, he somehow _always _blamed it on his weight. You couldn't change the color of your eyes, or the shape of your nose, or the shade of your lips. You couldn't get rid of your hair and grow it again, hoping it would look different after. And the idea of being bald didn't seem too appealing either.

But you could always, _always_ change your weight.

Skinny meant perfect, the perfect weight that all the girls swooned about. It was something his mind had came up with after all those hours of starving, and throwing up, and exercise. Something to keep him from remembering the acidic burn down his throat, the stabbing pain of not eating for days on an end, and the sore muscles from hours of running and running. It was to keep him motivated from quitting in the middle.

But who cares? It's his own body, he can do _whatever _he wants to do with it.

But it was just another lie he had made up to himself. It was to make him believe that he could still look perfect with all his strange features, to keep him from thinking that he'd always, _always_ look ugly to himself.

And though the name-calling and the seclusion had stopped by high school, somehow he still felt the same way about himself and his body. The same thoughts from before had plagued him and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get rid of them. He was even well-accepted at school and moderately popular. Some girls apparently thought he appeared cute and exotic with his slightly crooked grin and fiery, passionate hair. How smart he was and how he had excellent grades. Sometimes, he could hear them whispering about how cool he looked with an eye patch and how beautiful his 'emerald-colored' eye was.

Yeah, no. And please, emerald? His eye was just g_reen. _Leaf green, frog green, but not emerald green. It was just _green. _

But there were the stare-ers and the people whispering. '_What's wrong with his eye?_' they would ask in disgust. '_And why is it behind an eye patch?'_ _'His hair is so bright and blinding, how unprofessional! Bet he dyed it, wanna-be punk pop kid!' _they would murmur behind him.

It all collided horribly, and he knew it. It was as if God had simply thrown all the strangest colors in the world onto him and just somehow passed him off as a human being. He was the one with all the unwanted features. He wished he could meld into the world so badly, but he just couldn't fit in. He was always, always sticking out.

And although his ribs and hip bones jutted out noticeably in his profile, he still felt unsatisfied with his weight and his ugly face. It wasn't enough, he told himself as he ran his long, bony fingers down the absent, obscured stomach. He was always letting down everyone around him. Allen was always so cheerful and polite, adorable and friendly, even with his shocking white hair, scar, and arm. Why couldn't he laugh it off and live his life to its fullest like Allen would? He had trouble with people staring at his arm, but he didn't get offended. People were attracted to his positive outlook on life. And Lenalee, kind and comforting with her beautiful long, dark hair. She saw everyone as her family and protected them closely. Him? He just acted his part as an amiable friend, joking and tagging along.

They, who confided in him all their troubles and problems, wouldn't get anything in return from him. Though his friends often questioned about his skinniness, he would just brush it off. It was so easy to lie that he was heading to study in the school library during noon, where he was really throwing his lunch away; it was so easy to pretend he was going to the bathroom when he was really sticking his fingers down his throat to activate his gag reflex and get whatever he had eaten out of his system.

And if his usually-not-home grandfather ever came back from those long, business trips, he could just hide in one of the many rooms of the large house and just lie that he was at a friend's house or some other crap.

Lavi shied away from the mirror and combed a hand through his hair, fixing the eye patch into place. He brushed his teeth and washed his face without another look at the mirror and stepped out of the bathroom. Rummaging through his disorganized closet, he pulled out a pair of white skinny jeans and a black tank top with a band logo printed across and slipped them on. The articles of clothing hung loosely around his frame, since he hadn't bought any new clothes since his. . . whatever weight problem it was. Oh well, it didn't matter. In his skinny jeans, he had a distinct thigh gap the girls would even be jealous of.

Slowly, he headed down the wooden stairs of the empty house and walked straight to the front door. He didn't want to eat and he didn't feel like eating. He was already used to skipping breakfast, oh, and maybe lunch, too. And then, of course he skipped dinner. Eating at night was fattening, complete weight gain. Throwing open the front door, he pulled on a hoodie and picked up his iPod from the counter top after straightening his backpack. Lavi headed outside and jumped down the front porch, wincing as his head began throbbing against his skull again. Apparently eating pills on an empty stomach wasn't the best idea.

He never had many great ideas anyway.

Lavi strolled to the bus stop with his eyes squinted in the light and music ringing in his ears. Walking to school was tedious, but it burned calories quickly. He would have to check his weight when he got home today, he thought dizzily to himself.

"Hey! Lavi!"

Whipping his head around, his eyes landed upon a short boy with stylish white hair and a jagged scar running down his face. Black spots danced before his eyes from the sudden movement and for a second, he felt as if he was going to start retching on the sidewalk. What was he going to retch out anyway? Stomach acid? But holding his breath tightly, he waited for the urge to pass. Ignore it, ignore it, keep ignoring it... "Allen!" he waved back in a cheerful manner and waited for Allen to catch up.

"How's it going?" Allen grinned when they were finally walking side by side. The spinning had stopped, to his relief.

Lavi grinned back, ignoring the way how his insides churned. "Fine," he lied.

The boy looked at him concernedly. "You're a bit pale, Lavi. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, just have a headache though. I had to study..." he made up. Liar. He never studied. Having photographic memory was something he had been born with, and it had definitely helped a great deal in the disorderly, cluttered-up chaos of problems called his life.

Allen frowned but didn't question him. "Okay," he said softly. "You should gain some weight though. You look really skinny."

That was with the white skinny jeans. They either made you look horrendously fat or horrendously skinny.

The redhead stopped in his tracks, but pushed the statement aside and joked, "Is that a compliment?"

The shorter teenager laughed at the statement. "Why, yes, I guess you could, but make sure you're not too skinny, 'kay? We don't want you to get sick or anything just for a compliment or to look nice," he commented.

"Sure, beansprout. I would never do that. Couldn't risk ya guys worrying," he grinned. How ironic, just about everything Allen had said right there was what he was doing.

"Quit calling me that," Allen bumped into Lavi's shoulder playfully. He cringed at the contact of his skin rubbing harshly against his bone. It would definitely bruise later. Why did everything have to bruise so easily?

"Ow," he whined. It really did hurt though.

Allen rolled his eyes, believing it to be an act, "Exaggerator. Come on."

When they got to school, people were filing into the classrooms from the long, crowded hallways. Lavi separated from Allen and stopped in front of his locker to place his belongings inside. It was loud and chaotic, and within a couple of seconds, he could feel his ears ringing from the noisy premises. With his bag on his unbruised shoulder and iPod in his free hand, he frowned in concentration as his fingers deftly twirled the dial on his locker.

Suddenly, the hallway fell silent.

Only a pair of loud, distinct footsteps sounded out, steady and confident with almost a definite hint of anger. In synchronization, everyone's head turned towards the one individual stalking across the hall.

And Lavi's eyes landed upon the most perfect person he had ever seen.

With every step the man took, Lavi believed more and more that he was gazing at the most perfect being in the entire universe. He radiated absolute confidence and power. Not only that, he was absolutely flawless. His raven colored hair was gathered at the top of his head in a long ponytail, shining under the incandescent light. Neatly-cut dark bangs framed the white face with narrowed, deep midnight blue eyes, burning with ferocity. They were slightly slanted, indicating his Asian descent, still beautiful and exotic in their own way. With a menacing glare, he passed by, hand on the hilt of his—was that a _katana?_—sword.

But most of all, he was skinny. Even with his broad shoulders and muscular forearms, there wasn't a single ounce of fat on him. And although he was muscular, he was still able to attain a slender body shape. He was just so. . . perfect, even with the frighteningly murderous gleam in his eyes. Why couldn't Lavi be like that? Why couldn't he be so confident and beautiful and slender at the same time? Within a minute of entering the school, he had already captured every students' admiration. And possibly gained the hearts of most of the giggling air-headed girls in this school. It made him feel stupid and fat again.

But at the same time, Lavi found himself completely enraptured by the dark-eyed, model-like student. There was this mysterious grace that practically _pulled _your attention to him. He was completely different from the rest, but hauntingly handsome.

In a flash, he whirled around, sleek ponytail slicing through the air in a whip-like manner.

"What the fuck are you all staring at?" he snapped.

The hall was shocked into silence.

Then the chatter burst back into the air again as students rushed to their respective classes.

Lavi banged his head against his locker door to clear his mind and stuffed all his belongings into the small compartment. With a deep inhalation, he closed his eyes and rested his back against the empty locker next to him for a few moments.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

His eyes snapped back open, only to see a dark shadow looming over him. "H-huh?" he stuttered out unevenly. He raised his eyes, and _oh fuck._

Towering over him was the new transfer student, glaring at him with the most murderous gleam in his eyes. "Get the fuck off my locker," he spat out.

"W-what?" Lavi quickly moved away. "This locker is empty."

The dark-haired student rolled his eyes. "What the fuck, of course it's fucking empty!"

Lavi bit his lip nervously. "S-sorry."

"Tch. Get out of my way," he glared. With a heavy hand, he pushed the redhead away harshly. Suddenly, the world before him dipped and everything became blurry. _Again?_ Gasping for breath, Lavi desperately clung to the locker next to him, as if he was clinging onto his consciousness instead. No, he wasn't going to pass out here, right in front of everyone!

Luckily, the other person ignored him and continued opening the locker's door. Lavi's vision slowly slipped into focus as he concentrated his eyes on one area. It's not like he wanted to, but Lavi somehow found the other student's movements calm and smooth, not that the student really was—he wasn't obviously. Like. . . it was so graceful or something. Standing from where he was, he quietly watched the temperamental teenager's fluid flicks of the wrist as he opened the locker.

"Don't get in my way anymore, got that?" the student growled menacingly.

"Wh-what?" Lavi held his hands up in mock surrender and laughed nervously. "Sorry, but I haven't really done anything to anger—"

"Shut up, stupid rabbit. Your very existence is anger-inducing." Holding the notebooks easily under one hand, the transfer slammed the locker shut with a metallic clang.

"Uh, I'm sor—"

"Shut up. I don't want your fucking apology. Just stay out of my way for the rest of the year, got that?" He swooped in front of Lavi's face and trapped him between his arms threateningly. Narrowing his eyes murderously, he paused for a brief second to skim over Lavi's features. With a rather _girly _looking hair flip, or what appeared to be a hair flip, the student stomped off in the opposite direction of where Lavi was standing.

"Wh-what?" he asked himself as he slid down against the locker. The other student probably left because of his hideous appearance, wasn't it?

* * *

Ten minutes into class, the door slammed open. Everyone's head turned towards the door.

Standing right in front was a very annoyed, very disheveled, and _very furious_ dark-haired student. Throwing a glare around the room, he muttered with annoyance, "I got fucking lost." Miss Lotto ducked behind her desk.

Lavi froze when he saw the transfer. The transfer froze when he saw Lavi. And then they both turned their eyes away, one more menacing than the other.

Miss Lotto, a usually extremely flustered German woman, introduced nervously, "Class, this is Yuu Kanda—"

"Kanda Yuu," he spat out.

The teacher dropped the marker she was holding and bent down frantically, almost fearful of the new student's presence,"O-oh, I'm so, so s-sorry, c-class, this is—"

"Tch. Whatever," Kanda cut in.

"You may sit there," the teacher directed anxiously, wringing her hands as she did so. The transfer student, or Kanda, gave an impatient jerk of his head and began making his way to his spot, muttering about 'stupid fucking apologies' and 'stupid fucking rabbits.' For some strange reason, he kept walking closer and closer to where Lavi was seated. Then the Asian boy sat down.

Lavi nearly fell out of seat when he suddenly found himself seated next to the most breathtaking guy—literally— in the whole school.

He was going to die from a panic attack of sitting next to him, or die from his killer death glare.

Either way, he was going to die here.

Mondays were to be hated, weren't they?

* * *

A/N: So that's it for now. Currently Lavi is not completely considered _anorexic_ anorexic because if he was he'd probably be sent to the hospital and I don't want to go there. According to the wiki he's six feet one and 141 pounds which is pretty thin, and around 126 pounds for him is considered anorexic, so he is pretty close to that.

Thanks for reading and please review!


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